We know that there is no help for us but from one another, that no hand will save us if we do not reach out our hand. And the hand that you reach out is empty, as mine is. You have nothing. You possess nothing. You own nothing. You are free. All you have is what you are, and what you give.
Azamor's thought echoed in Edric's head, bitter, as the demons heading toward them evaporated. Edric knew that Azamor bore a special sort of anger toward his own kind, and he had seen it on display the handful of times they'd been attacked in their journeys. He assumed it had something to do with the reason he'd been sealed in the pendant, all those years ago. Edric didn't know the details, and he'd never asked. He figured Azamor would tell him, someday.
Edric was more relieved than disappointed by the sudden disappearance of the demons, but the feeling didn't last. Dread and curiosity took its place. The dread, he imagined, was natural. This attack had unnerving implications. Whoever had orchestrated it had, apparently, gotten away clean. He didn't want to think about the casualties, but he doubted it was a tiny number.
His curiosity was a little less abstract, more mundane. It was a result not of the monsters that had ravaged the city, but of the well-armed woman who'd he almost fought them with.
"How did you know I'm an Athalian?" He followed her to the bench she'd sat down on and stood beside her. "I'm not, ah, exactly wearing a name tag."
Face it, Eddy. You- no- we- have fans.
"I'm Edric, by the way." He offered a hand to shake and quirked an eyebrow. "But I'm getting the weird sense that you already know that."
Dexter looked around as the demons that had managed to surround him dissolved. He stood, alone now, in the middle of the street holding a fireman's ax. He took another look around, confirmed that he was no longer in danger, and opened his hands, letting the ax fall from his hands. It vanished before it hit the ground. He looked at buildings around him, saw one that looked suitably bar-like, and allowed himself. He'd need to be going soon. Doubtless, there was money to be made off of this. Rich people tended to get nervous, whenever something like this happened, especially if it was difficult to explain or understand. They'd be clamoring for guards, hired muscle. At first glance his resume, what with the police and military experience, was impressive, as was his magic.
But first, there was an unlocked bar, untended expensive liquor, and an empty flask he had to attend to.
Aileen poked her head above her stall and watched as the smoke created by the explosive she'd thrown cleared to reveal that the crowd of demons that had found their way into the medical exhibit area was entirely gone. The irritated intern from earlier stood up, brushing off his shirt. He'd been cowering behind a bench.
"Well, Ms. Deckard, that was some bomb."
"I don't think-" The explosive she'd created sounded and looked a lot more powerful than it actually was. She'd learned the recipe from a hunter while she and Edric had traveled. It was a lot more effective at scaring an attacker than it was at hurting one. She'd made a couple of the little bombs up before coming, just in case. She hadn't really expected it to do anything to the demons when she'd thrown it. She walked out from behind her stall and looked around. She couldn't see, hear, or smell any demons. "I think it's over."
"AHAHA!" Orrin clapped a hand down hard on Iona's shoulder, his laughter obnoxiously loud. "Yes! We will be like ninjas!" He stepped back and took a moment to survey his team. All of them looked competent, even the newcomer he hadn't yet met. Confidence swelled in his chest. In his mind, success was already a guarantee, unquestionable. He readjusted the massive shield on his back, and stood up a little straighter.
He listened as Blaine explained why he would not be a good candidate to hold the drives. Orrin's hand shot up, almost involuntarily.
"Ooh! Iona! Pick me!" He struck his chest with a closed fist. "I know how to use computers!"
So, like, I remember, way back when, I tried to join this medieval GOT-ish court-intrigue sort of RP. I had, like, just joined the site. I was a terrible writer, somehow even worse than I am now, and I was really bad at creating characters. There was a pre-set cast with different roles you could create characters for. One of those, IIRC, was called "Brother to the King of Seabel." I wanted that goddamn role. I spent, like, four hours creating the blandest, cliche, most boring grey stain of a character you ever did see. Well, some other guy who I can't remember, made a bomb-ass sheet. They knocked it out of the park, really. Way better character. So, naturally, the GM chose the other character and I, being the high-strung emotional mess that I was 2 or 3 years ago, took it personally. I bitched. I moaned. I was offered a chance to play a different role. I declined, because I'd "spent so much time on the character." The person who made the better character offered to apply for a different role. I told them no because I had started to realize I was making an ass of myself and wanted to leave with my ego in tact.
So, to the person who made the better brother to the king, and to the person that GM'd that. Sorry about that one, guys.
It's just one of those things that makes me wish I hadn't joined the site until, like, a year ago. I really wasn't cut out to handle post deadlines, rejection, criticism, or any factor of the whole experience, really.
Anyway, not sure how to make this a discussion. Anyone else have any cringy, early-career stories? Or, better yet, was anyone in that RP who remembers this?
Edric had, thankfully, ended up on the right side of the Psi barriers when they went up. He and Azamor had ceased the Duality and he jogged the rest of the way toward the locker. The area was crowded with frightened trying to get their things, but Edric managed to get past them. When he approached the locker, however, his heart fell. It was a key-lock, and he'd totally forgotten where he'd put the key.
"Think we can break this one open, Aza?" He frowned as he examined it. The metal didn't look exceptionally thick, but the hinges seemed solid. Even with Azamor's possession-strength, he didn't know if he'd be able to rip it open.
Back left pocket.
The key is in your back left pocket.
"Oh." He patted the pocket and, sure enough, there was the key. He sighed as he heard Azamor snicker. He opened the locker, and there was his satchel and his sword. He donned the satchel and belted the sword to his side. He was, he figured, as ready as he could be.
Seven minutes later, the soldiers guarding the barrier had other ideas.
"Hell no." Said a grizzled old sergeant. "Absolutely not. I can't allow a civilian to go get themselves killed in there. We have people trained for this sort of thing, let them handle it."
"Look, man, I'm not helpless."
"I'm sure you aren't, but unless you're a fully equipped crisis response team, I'm not letting you through."
"I studied at Athalia!" Edric blurt out, at the last moment.
"Did you now?" The soldier looked intrigued, but stomped on it immediately and went right back to grumpy. "That doesn't mean much, these days."
"Doesn't it?" Edric cocked an eyebrow. Something clicked. Maybe the soldier had some kind of respect for Athalia, maybe he just wanted Edric to stop bothering him.
"Are you a Koran citizen?"
"Alright, alright, fine." He sighed. "Only because I can't get in too much trouble if you aren't Koran." He turned around and spoke to some of the other soldiers. "Oh, and, uh, don't tell anyone about this. Anyone asks, you were on the other side when the barrier went up, alright."
It was ten minutes before he saw another non-demonic living person, that being an incredibly well-armed woman with dark hair. As he drew closer, he noticed she was running toward him. He had two thoughts in very quick succession.
What luck, the first person I see looks like an extremely competent fighter!
She's being chased by demons.
As they neared each other, Azamor had a thought of his own.
Holy fuck that's a lot of demons.
Edric drew his scimitar, and he wondered briefly if he should engage the demons behind her. Could the two of them even kill that many of the fiends?
Husband of Kendra Riu Bell @Vesuvius00 Interacting with: Kendra
"Yes, I think that would be, ah, prudent." The tension was leaving his muscles, albiet slowly. It had been years and years since anything had set him so off-kilter. The Berserker had been something like a bedtime story to him, as a child. Something he'd feared. He'd been young then, sure, not even old enough to hold a blade. He'd long thought himself free of such juvenile fears, but hearing that brute's name had rekindled something within him. He took another breath.
"Though, I fear that finding my brother will be-"
"Come on then!" Delleck's shouting was audible over the din of conversation. "Put that pigsticker away and fight me with your hands!" Kaivor cringed involuntarily. It seemed as though his thoroughly drunk brother was picking a fight with some also-drunk minor lordling or another.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Kaivor muttered, looking at Kendra with exasperation before hurriedly moving to keep his brother from getting himself killed.
The Igvrius family had a manor in the city, and Kaivor was thankful for that, but he wished that it hadn't gone quite so long without use. The manor, smaller than some of the ones that surrounded it, had clearly been empty for years and years until recently. Despite leaning toward the smaller side, it could have supported more people than Kaivor had brought with him. A handful of servants and guards, and his brother was the extent of his entourage. The manor, clearly designed for the purpose of entertaining guests, seemed empty. Quiet. Delleck tried his best to remedy this.
"Ah, shit to yer caution. I could have taken 'im!" He roared, indignant.
"I'll not have you run through and dead so young because you couldn't hold your drink."
"I'll not have- not have, uh..." He trailed off, persumably having forgotten his witty retort. Kaivor clenched his fist. Were the man not of his own blood...
"Go to bed, Dell."
"You first." Delleck seemed satisfied with getting the last word in, and stumbled off to his room. Kaivor let out a long breath, then turned to his bride.
"It's getting late. I would think we should, ah, retire soon." He cleared his throat. "Would you like a drink, first?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Two, perhaps?"
Kaivor reflects on childhood fears before having to rein in his brother, who is making an ass of himself. The group gets to the manor in short order, and soon Kaivor and Kendra are alone. Kaivor awkwardly broaches the topic of sleeping together before deciding that a bit of alcohol might steady the nerves.[Summary]
At some point, though Aryll didn't know when, exactly, fear replaced the anger. The standing biterness that had risen in her throat when she met her new husband was replaced with abject terror and a strong self-preservation instinct. The Drakan, her husband, was dead. There was no grief, but in the few moments she had to observe the body, she felt sick. He was scarcely recognizable.
Then the murderer, the one who introduced himself as Höd Ultair, was all over her. She was immobilized, frozen by some primal thought that if she stood still enough he'd leave her alone. It almost worked. The brute seemed done with her, be she was cast off into a crowd of guards, who were all too eager to have her. One grabbed her by the arm, and she wound up with her other arm and slapped him across the face with all of her strength. His head didn't move an inch, the impact of her blow scarcely registering with him. It did, however, seem to surprise him enough for him to loosen his grip on her arm. She twisted as hard and she could, and wormed her way out of his grasp. As she backed away, she tripped over something and fell hard onto her back. As she craned her neck to see what had caused her to fall, she found herself practically sitting on her dead husband's mangled corpse. She let out a squeak of horror and scrambled backward, away from the body and the guards. The body didn't move, of course, but the guards were pacing toward her now. She screamed, practically screeched, desperate.
"Get the fuck away from me!" Her eyes franctically scanned the assembled Drakken. "Help me, please!"
All things considered, Aryll is having a rough day. Panic is setting in.[Summary]
If Dexter was doing his math right, he'd gone about three years without getting tossed through a plate glass window in a bar. He could see, in his mind, a downcast worker changing the "days without incident" sign from about one-thousand-and-ninety-five to zero. It was an amusing image, far more amusing that what he was actually seeing.
Himself, laying in a pile of broken glass, with a demon leering at him from the ground-floor bar window it had just tossed him out of.
What a smug asshole.
He rose to his knees with a groan, feeling his back pop. He could already feel, in his pocket, his half-pack of cigarettes crushed beyond hope. His flask seemed alright, though, and so he took it out of his jacket pocket and took a drink. He'd like to have been able to get his glass from the bar, but the demon had not been so courteous as to allow him to gather his things before throwing him out of a window.
The thing saw that his only defense, apparently, was a flask. He could feel it sneering at him. It tensed, and so do he. Then, with savage speed, it leapt through the now-empty window frame at him. Dexter didn't even have to focus, the spell came so easily to him. There were plenty of mages who learned all kinds of magic, diversifying their abilities.
Not Dex. He knew one spell, and knew it well.
Instantly, there was a spear in his hand. The demon didn't even have time to be surprised, as it leapt directly onto the tip of the conjured spear. Dexter held the thing aloft for a moment, before slamming it into the ground, withdrawing his spear, and then plunging it back into the demon's throat before it could respond. It was dead, and for the moment, he was safe.
Then, he saw the psy barriers go up, and he was on the wrong side of them.
"Son of a bitch." He mumbled, looking around. Demons, tons of them. People, too, terrified people. He let the spear dissipate, but knew it would only be a matter of time before he had to conjure a different weapon. He sighed. The way he figured, the only way he was getting out of this one would be finding whoever in the hell was responsible for the demons, and dispatching them with the quickness.
He didn't know where such a dickhead would be located, but he figured that it was a pretty good idea to start headed in the general direction that the demons were coming from. He opened his flask and took one last drink, draining it.